


Will you be my Lannister?

by ChocoNut



Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Confession, Diverges in 4x1, F/M, Fluff and Feels, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 01:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20612312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: They go to the Godswood to spy on Sansa, but Jaime has a plan of his own. Will it work? Or will his uncanny ability to insult her at every key moment set things back for him?





	Will you be my Lannister?

**Author's Note:**

> My obsession with picking gaps in the earlier seasons to insert fluff and confessions continues and I've made this into a new series :)  
I always wondered - what did Jaime really mean when he asked her if they were related? ;)  
Thank you, as always, for reading, and do let me know if you liked it!

_ Blue is a good colour on you, _ he’d meant to tell her when he spotted her approaching him that morning, _ it goes well with your eyes. _ But as she came closer, his confidence abandoned him and so did his tongue, the unrest gripping his chest worsening as they commenced this long-awaited trip to the Godswood. He’d looked forward to these few minutes more than anything else, but not one word he could speak when they set off on a brisk stroll, his eyes darting to her from time to time, covert glances the only thing he could manage whilst hoping to regain the determination he’d ventured into this trip with, and his resolution to spill his heart out to her.

But when they made it there, she had eyes only for Sansa, and he, only for her.

He wanted to say so much, to express his growing admiration for her, but all she went on about, was Sansa, the girl and her worries about her clawing their way into every corner of her mind. He stood there, watching her eyes never leave the girl for even a second, her attention never once shifting to her companion who craved for a few moments of private conversation with her. 

“Are you sure we’re not related?” he snapped at her when she accused him of forgetting his word to Catelyn Stark, his inability to execute his vow and her dwindling trust in him leaving him so disgruntled that he could hold his caustic tongue no more. 

When his stinging question resulted in nothing but a questioning look in her eyes, he did what he always took shelter in whenever he wanted to mask his real emotions; following up his sarcastic query with a stream of insulting remarks about her looks. A flicker of hurt crossed her eyes, surprising him, for he’d flung numerous jibes at her in the past, many far worse than today’s toned down criticism, but never before had she bothered about his opinion, swatting it away as easily as one would a troublesome insect.

Having no retort for him, nor any words of self-defense, she took to observing Sansa again for a few brief seconds, her face deflated and crestfallen, her crushing disappointment pinching him more than he’d expected it to, tugging at his heartstrings and making him want to slap his forehead in regret for being the reason for her dejection. 

Days had slipped by since they’d returned to the Red Keep, many of them leaving him with no opportunity nor any excuse to see her. Plenty of chances, though, he’d had come upon to be with Cersei, but none of them stirred in him the desire to touch or kiss her again, and not even once did he yearn for the warmth of her body around him or her company in bed. 

Nights, he’d spent, with nothing but solitude to hold his hand, many sleepless, and the remaining ridden with unexpected dreams. Dreams that had left him confused and agitated. Dreams, not of the pretty sister he’d longed to be with for about a year, but of the homely wench who’d dragged him along for the better part of that year. 

Dreams, that slowly began to convince him, that he’d misplaced his heart along his way back to King’s Landing.

He allowed his eyes to linger on her, to admire the sunlight bouncing off her golden hair as he scanned his head for a thread to hold on to, to set right the conversation that had taken an unpleasant turn thanks to his reckless tongue. Reasons, his mind had worked hard to cook up these days, to catch mere glimpses of her, at times lurking outside her chambers like a lad half his age, waiting for the right moment, hoping for a glance into those pretty eyes. And now that he had been presented with one, the last he wanted to do was fuck it up.

“She’s left,” she spoke at last, bringing him back to his surroundings, and mainly Sansa, “and so must I.”

“Wench, wait,” he called in desperation, for if he lay this hard-earned moment to waste, he’d never be able to tell her, the pain within him, haunting him forever. “Stay,” he insisted, when she halted in her tracks.

“What for?” she demanded, her eyes molten fire.

“Talk to me,” he heard himself say, convinced her flaming gaze would soon reduce him to ashes.

“So that you can insult me further?” she shot back. “So that you can find more excuses to justify your decision to forego your vow?” 

Tossing him an indignant look, she made to leave.

“What if I told you,” he began, and she stopped again, waiting for him to continue, “that my promise to Catelyn Stark has been haunting me ever since we returned?” Wiping her palms on her dress, she wheeled around, the fire in her eyes mingling with a curious gleam in them, an intent, probably, to know more, fighting to push her anger away. “What if I told you, Lady Brienne, that my helplessness and inability to act on it has given birth to a new sense of insecurity within me--”

She advanced a step in his direction. “What insecurity?”

“That I might fall short,” he admitted his worst fear, “in _ your _ eyes.” He cared not about what Cersei or Tyrion or even his father thought of him. But off late, this woman and her opinion of him had gradually begun to assume the topmost precedence in his life.

Though she said nothing, the muscles on her face relaxed.

“What if I told you that it has never been my intention to insult you? Not today, not in the past,” he said, coming forth with yet another confession, hoping this would put to rest both their minds.

This time, she huffed a laugh, the look in her eyes one of disbelief. 

“I’ve dreamed of you, Brienne, not once, but on several nights,” he went on, determined to wipe out all her doubts, “I--”

“Nightmares, those might’ve been,” she cut in, her tone bearing a tinge of sadness and her thin smile, self-deprecating, “for what else would a dream about a wench you’ve decried all these weeks--”

“What if I told you that I’ve been an idiot?” he hastily countered, hoping she wouldn’t jump to conclusions.

She nodded. “You jumped into that pit after me,” she recalled with a huge sigh, “that does make you an idiot--”

Having taken enough of her determination to twist every explanation he gave, he rushed forward, narrowing the gap between them. “What if I told you that the insults I attacked you with were nothing but a means of escape from the feelings I feared to face?” he told her, his eyes buried deep into hers.

Her expression once again shifted, but she didn’t draw away, nor did she flinch at his proximity. “I--I don’t understand.”

“Let me explain then, my lady.” He inhaled deeply, hoping some air in his lungs might supply him with the courage to go on. “What if I told you that some of my words a while ago were none but the deepest desires of my heart?”

This time she frowned, totally confused, and he thought it necessary to elucidate. “When I asked you if you were a Lannister--” At a severe loss for how to express himself, he thought for a moment, then went on, “Not all relationships are forged by blood, my lady, there are some bonds--” And yet again, his nerves got the better of him, and he couldn't bring himself to say it.

A storm of agitation came over those usually calm eyes. “I should probably go, Sansa--”

“--can wait a while,” he growled, stepping into her path, envious of the undue attention the girl commanded and the way she dominated every second of the wench’s life.

Flustered by his aggression, she bit her lip and averted her gaze. “Lady Olenna must be looking for me--”

“She can keep looking,” he said, mellowing down this time, “and so can everyone else, for it is my turn today, my lady.”

“For what?” She still refused to look at him, though the rising colour on her face told him that luck might be on his side today.

“What would you say if I asked you to become a Lannister?” he said at last, his innermost thoughts coming to the fore. “_ My _ Lannister.”

When her eyes met his, what surprised him was the pain and hurt in them. “Do not jest, my lord,” she pleaded. “I’ve borne your taunts, and I have no qualms taking more of them--”

“Brienne--” he began, aghast that she’d taken his attempt at a confession for a cruel jape.

“I could even bring myself to accept your helplessness in fulfilling your vow,” she went on, her voice cracked with emotions she could no longer contain, “I--”

“This is no joke, Brienne,” he intervened again, taking another half-step towards her, cornering her to the wall they’d been leaning against. “What would you say if I asked you to be the future Lady of Casterly Rock?”

“You could do better than me,” she answered in a low tone, “someone to match your beauty.”

“Beauty, I just happened to realize, is none but you,” he confessed, his hand seeking her cheek, “not my sister, nor the fairest of maidens the country can boast of.”

“Liar,” she softly rebuked him, her lips parting when his thumb gently caressed them.

“That I’ve been all my life,” he sighed, bringing his lips over hers, “but rarely have I lied to you, my wench, except perhaps, the times I’ve insulted you.” Wrapping his stump around her waist, he pinned her to the wall with his body, watching the colour on her face intensify. “What if I told you that you’ve encroached upon every inch of my heart,” he said, placing a tender kiss on her lips, “that you’ve given me turbulent nights, relentlessly invading my thoughts and dreams. What if I told you that your eyes are all I see whenever I shut mine?” 

Her lips trembled slightly, but the smile that took shape on them made him wish he could run to his father right away and express his desire to marry her. Unwilling to let go of this golden opportunity, he kissed her deeply. A moment’s hesitation was the only hindrance he met, after which she flung her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Her lips, though not soft as Cersei’s when they rubbed against his, fueled the fire within him. Her fingers, though not delicate as Cersei’s when they madly ruffled through his hair, evoked in him sensations he’d never been blessed with before. Her body, though not petite and womanly as Cersei’s, filled his entire being with passion he’d never encountered before, his mind going astray with unspeakable visions of everything he’d like to do to her when her soft breasts pressed into him. Her tongue and her mouth, inexperienced though they were, left him thirsting for more when he let go of her.

“Will you be my Lannister, Brienne?” he asked, panting into her mouth. “Will you give me the chance to lay down the world at your feet?”

A glow of elation lit up her face, but the next instant, to his dismay, a shadow of gloom dispelled the shine in those blue eyes. “What about Sansa? My vow--”

“--_ our _ vow,” he corrected, gathering her in his arms. “Did we both not make Lady Stark this promise? I swear to you, my lady, that we will soon find a way out of this. Sweet words, I may not be good at, but promises, you can be rest assured I will keep.”

“I believe in your word,” she said, her smile bringing the brightest ray of sunshine into his life, “Ser Jaime--”

“_ Jaime, _” he corrected her again, hoping she’d let go of his title, “my name’s Jaime, wench, and I hope you’d address me with affection than with such annoying formality.”

“You have my trust and my heart, Jaime, and you always will.” she told him again, her eyes and her words flooding him with warmth. “Until the end of my days.”

“Does this mean I’m allowed to look forward to the pleasure of your companionship for the rest of my life?” he asked, awaiting her reply with bated breath.

Doubt, once again, made its unwanted presence felt in her eyes. “Your father--”

“--would only be too glad to have me settle down,” he said, anticipating his father’s approval. “What say you, my lady?” he asked again, wanting her consent more than anything else. “Will you have me?”

Eyes dancing with a mischievous look this time, her lips curved in a playful smile. “When did I ever say no?” she shyly replied, her fingers busying themselves with his hair again as she buried her face in his chest.


End file.
